


Obscur

by kenmarlenn



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmarlenn/pseuds/kenmarlenn
Summary: Dark approaches Artie with an offer.(An AU.)





	1. Chapter 1

Artiplier likes the Host. He is someone who lost his sight, something essential to his craft, but who can still can do what he loves, even better than before. And he knows what happened. How the Host was promised power and life from Dark in exchange for his eyes. Still, Artie thinks, Host has wonderful new powers and manages despite his blindness, and he can’t help but admire the opportunity the Author was given.  Besides, while Host has to deal with Dark lurking over his shoulder, he doesn’t have to deal with a demon in his head.

Red Man is getting more and more agitated, more persistent in trying to convince Artie to give up and let him do as he wishes. He’s used to -

_You are nothing without me._

\- the harsh whispers, the soft ones, the voice over his shoulder -

_The others do not care about you. You are not useful to them. But you are useful to me._

\- but it hurts. Emotionally and physically. More and more, Artie is getting headaches.

He just wants to paint, to bring his visions of beautiful landscapes to life, but when he isn’t throwing black and white and red on his canvas in the vague shape of Red Man, he’s lying in bed with migraines all day. And still the Red Man’s whispered croonings persist.

This afternoon, an attempt to paint the Treehouse of Lesser Egos outside his window was interrupted by a sharp pain in Artie’s head. It left him stumbling and groaning into bed, as Red Man insisted that he should be painting him instead.

Minutes pass, and there is a knock at the door. Artie lifts his head a little, and grimaces. “ _Entrez_ ,” he says.

Dark enters the room, and his aura slowly reaches out towards Artie. As he grows closer, the aura gently pushes Red Man from the area, the entity’s whispers growing fainter. Red Man doesn’t hiss at the intrusion as he normally would, and simply leaves instead. Leaves. Artie can’t feel his presence at all. He only feels Dark’s aura, which feels wrong, oppressive, but not as bad as Red Man. He hazily thinks that this is unusual.

“I have an offer,” Dark says, staring down at Artie with his hands clasped behind his back.

Unfortunately, the headache didn’t leave with Red Man. “Offer?” Artie says, and he grimaces as the high pitched noise that follows Dark around amplifies the pain.

“I assume your recent troubles are being caused by Red Man?”

“ _Oui, homme rogue_.” Artie is having trouble translating to English, but Dark knows enough French to understand. And his fearful tone says plenty.

Dark steps closer to Artie, merely feet away from the bed now. “I can prevent Red Man from harassing you as he has been,” he says, and his voice grows softer with what any other ego, any older ego, would know is fake concern. But Artie relaxes a bit, attempts to properly make eye contact with Dark instead. “I am willing to do this for you, he won’t speak to you anymore, as long as you give me something.”

“Like… like  _l’Hôte_?”

“Yes,” Dark says. A smile forms on his lips, and Artie shudders involuntarily. “Exactly like the Host.”

Artiplier is not stupid. The presence of Red Man sometimes dulls his potential, but he still has Mark’s clever mind. He knows this is a bad idea. He knows. But the chance to be rid of Red Man, after being told by Wilford and Host that such a thing wasn’t possible…

“I’ll also get rid of that headache of yours, no trade necessary.”

That seals it. “ _Oui_. I accept your deal.”

Artie realizes, as his eyes close from fatigue and a gentle hand from Dark rests on his head, that he hadn’t asked what Dark was going to take.

* * *

Artie wakes up, but realizes something is different. His migraine is gone, and he doesn’t feel Red Man’s presence. There is only a buzzing white noise in his head, not entirely unpleasant, but certainly not normal.

Just after realizing this, Artie recalls that Dark had visited. Dark came, Red Man left, and now he feels better. He smiles, opens his eyes, and gets up. The smile turns into a frown instantly. He could swear that in his pained state, he had left the lights on when he went to sleep. Monsieur Dark must have shut them off to aid my recovery, Artie thinks. He moves to his door. He nearly trips over a discarded paint can in the process, but he makes it to the light switch.

Flick.

Nothing changes. Everything is as dark as it was before. Artie’s heart beats a little faster, and his throat tightens, but he sighs. Power outages are not uncommon in Egos Inc. The Googles work on projects too powerful for the local power grid, Bim’s powers go out of control, some of the lesser egos play pranks… He’ll just have to stumble around in the dark and find someone to ask about it, see how long they will have to deal with no lights.

He fumbles for the doorknob -  _Non. Non. Non_ … that’s air… that’s the door at least… Ah! - and opens the door. Stepping into the hallway, he’s relieved to see that it isn’t just his room that is without lights. The hallway, too, is pitch black.

But Artie hesitates. His studio shares this floor with some of the other main egos like Yandere, Bop, and Bing, and while their collective rooms take up a lot of space, the main hallway leading to the elevator (or stairs, whichever the building feels like having there at the moment) usually has windows lining it. Surely he hadn’t slept long enough for it to have become night? And there’s always some amount of light coming from the city outside, the hall should be somewhat lit.

He blinks to try and clear his eyes. He freezes, then tries again. It feels wrong. Wrong. Like there’s an…. empty space behind his…. eyelids….

Artie raises a hand to his eyes and starts shaking when he feels only air and then blood and then muscle. It hurts, of course, poking himself in the empty eye socket, but he is too distressed to care. He collapses to his knees, rubbing at his eyes – no, where his eyes should be, as if they would reappear.

_This can’t be happening. No. No. No, no, no,_   **non, non non non** _-!_

He stays that way for a long time, alternating between brushing his fingers over his face and gripping the loops of the carpeted floor like they are the only things keeping him grounded in reality. His eyes are gone. His eyes are gone. Dark’s voice echoes faintly.  _Exactly like the Host._  Exactly like the Host.

Artie suddenly has an idea. He stands abruptly and feels his way back into the studio. He knows his room by memory, which is a blessing, and he reaches his easel quickly.  It’s okay. He’s like the Host. He’s like the Host. He’s blind, he has no eyes, but now he is better than ever at his craft, he can paint masterpieces without hardly thinking.   
  
His hands fumble trying to get paint on the brush. His first attempt at getting paint on the canvas ends with him stroking the air to the side of the easel. He’s frustrated, but willing to keep trying, and then he realizes that he doesn’t even know what color he put on the brush. His whole body shakes, the brush drops to the floor with a clatter, and he’s on the ground again. He sobs, but no tears come. There’s nowhere for them to come from.  The white buzzing noise gets louder and louder in his head, and Artie hears a familiar voice.

_Sleep._  
  
He complies.  
  
Mere seconds later, his body stands. It strides out the door with purpose, perfectly navigating the halls of Egos Inc. as though it didn’t have bloody holes instead of eyes. It arrives at the door to Dark’s office, and does not bother knocking before it enters. Dark looks up, surprised for a moment, then relaxes.  
  
“Thank you for your help,” Artie says, but it isn’t Artie. Artie is sleeping, and his voice sounds… off. This is Red Man. He doesn’t have to speak to Artie anymore - he got what he wanted.  
  
Something flashes in Dark’s eyes. Anger, perhaps, a sort of protectiveness, regret, but he recovers quickly and smiles. “It was mutually beneficial,” Dark says. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Artie' finds an ally.

Opinion Minion is chopping wood outside the cabin when he hears bushes rustle in the woods behind him. He freezes. He could swear that the Treehouse Egos are all busy with some dumb picnic the discount Gordon Ramsey had organized. They all know not to stray by the clubhouse alone anymore, and they know where it is, so it isn’t likely someone is wandering over by accident. He starts to shout for Sanic to back him up, but remembers that he and Falcon (the traitors) had been invited to the picnic. 

He hefts the wood ax in his hands, and turns around. “I’ve got a weapon, f***face. You’re not gonna pull a fast one on me, so either get out of here while I’m being friendly, or get an ax to the face.” He scans the tree line, but doesn’t see another sign of movement.

OM is about to turn around and get back to work when the bushes rustle again, and now he sees a flash of red. He lifts the ax higher, ready to swing - he’d been bored anyway, he really needs to take out his aggression, so whatever idiot is coming over is very unlucky.

But when an ego with a striped shirt and red beret steps out of the woods, head bowed, OM’s grip falters for a moment. It’s Artiplier. A main ego. Recalling the time he and Sanic had messed with Chef and Artie, though, OM recovers quickly and snarls, “Back for more, are you?”

Artie slowly, slowly, lifts his head to make eye contact with OM, who nearly drops the ax on his own foot as he stumbles back in surprise. Artie can’t make eye contact with OM. Because he has. No. Eyes. OM has seen the Host on occasion, seen his bloody bandages, but he is unprepared for seeing all the crimson blood welling in Artie’s empty eye sockets and trailing down his face like streaks of tears. Some blood seems to have stained his white and pink shirt as well. Artie’s face is blank, though as OM recoils the corner of his mouth lifts in an amused smirk for a second. He stands there then, expressionless, as OM regains his composure. 

“Dude,” OM says, and stares. He doesn’t mind gore - he’s inflicted enough pain on others to be numb to it - but this is entirely unexpected. “Where… are your eyes?”

Artie’s head tilts to the side, almost imperceptibly.

OM keeps staring, eyeing Artie up and down. His ax hangs at his side, but he keeps a hand on it, ready to swing. Something doesn’t seem right. “Fine. Don’t answer. Scram, or I’ll destroy you. Go see that doctor of yours, you’ve got blood on your,” he gestures to Artie, “everywhere.”

“Opinion Minion,” Artie says. He nods slightly to himself and steps forward. “I want to make a deal with you.”

Now, OM has limited experience with Artiplier. But even he can tell that Artie’s voice is lower, and how a staticky white noise backs every word. His mannerisms, too, are different, less clumsy and much more purposeful. Not stiff, exactly, but there is no wasted movement. Something is weird. But Artie’s a main ego, weird stuff happens all the time. Honestly, OM thinks, it may be in his best interests to play along and see where it gets him. 

He straightens and decides to seriously listen when he sees the blood on Artie’s hands - darker that the fresh blood coming from his eyes. Dried blood. Could be his own, but… “I’m listening,” OM says.

Artie has that creepy half-smile on again. “You caught my attention when you attacked the chef.” His French accent seems more pronounced, and significantly less fake sounding. 

“… Well, yeah, you were there.” OM frowns. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

“I am not Artiplier, though you would do well to refer to me as him when we speak. I would like to make an alliance.”

Skeptical, OM places his hand on the ax again. “Not that I’m actually concerned, but where’s ol’ Artie Farty then?”

“He is sleeping. I wished to speak with you alone.” Artie(?)’s brow furrows. “There is no need for that ax, Opinion Minion.”

“Wait, how did you see-?!”

Artie moves forward, closer to OM. “You need a partner.” It wasn’t a question. “I need one as well. You wish to cause chaos, as do I. Assist me.”

“And what’s the catch?” 

“There is a simple process necessary so that we may more easily communicate and assist each other.”

OM narrows his eyes. “Does it involve takin’ out my eyes or something?”

Artie chuckles darkly, and jeez, that’s the most unnerving sound he’s ever heard come from any human’s mouth. “No such thing.”

OM thinks of Sanic, of how he is now the sole antagonistic force in the forest. He has no one to back him up anymore, should any of the others take revenge. And he can’t go after anyone to take out his anger unless he wants to be really outnumbered. He looks at the dried blood on Artie’s hands, then up at his face. He doesn’t flinch this time, even though he sees the empty eye sockets up close.

“Yeah, okay. Why not?”

**Author's Note:**

> Blind Artie AU happened because I wanted to punish someone whose favorite character is Artie with angst, but then I realized that Artie's my favorite too and now oops. My Art son is suffering. Ah, well. An AU oneshot, though there's been other stuff written in addition that isn't mine.


End file.
